didn't know how you mean the prompt, so I went for some good old-fashioned topping-from-the bottom. Hope you like ;D

The cell was as cold and gloomy as you'd expect a dungeon cell to be, walls and floor of solid grey stone, the only light seeping in from a tiny half-moon shaped window far above eye-level and hardly shifting the shadows that pooled in the corners. It was empty, bar a grimy straw paliasse and its sole occupant. The man stood with his back to the far wall; they'd shackled his hands, then looped the connecting chain over a hook in the wall above his head so that the lock mechanism stayed out of his reach. He'd clearly had a rough time even before being thrown into a cell, as his clothes - what had been an elegant set of cricket whites - were grubby and dishevelled, but under the grime his expression was perfectly calm, eyes closed as if deep in contemplation. Faint sounds from the guards outside his door moving around filtered in, but he ignored them. Suddenly, a voice came from directly outside the door.

"I'm here to see the prisoner-"

"Not possible, sir." One of the guards spoke. "Nobody's to see him without clearance from General - oh. Sorry, sir. I wasn't aware - "

"Never mind." Keys scraped in the lock, bolts thudded back and the door swung open, bringing in a gust of warmer air from the corridor.

"There you are, sir. If you need any help - "

"I'd like to speak to the prisoner alone, captain. Without interruptions. "

There was a pause. "As you wish, sir."

The door closed on the visitor - slim-built, dark suit and tie, nondescript if not for his vivid coppery hair - and the guards' footsteps faded into the distance. The newcomer's approached the prisoner cautiously. At the sound of his footsteps, the other man's eyes opened. Cool grey-blue eyes met his own hazel.

"Hello, Turlough," the Doctor said.

Turlough had expected - he didn't know, frankly, what he'd expected. Screams of abuse, shock, denial, panic, any of those. Not this. He forced himself to meet the Doctor's eyes, and they were utterly unreadable.

"Surprised?" It was meant to sound contemptuous. Somehow, it didn't come out right.

"Very. I really wasn't expecting visitors." The Doctor glanced casually round the cell. "The hospitality here is sadly lacking, I'm afraid. Not so much as a cup of tea. You could try asking the guards, though; you seemed to be getting on rather well with them."

His tone was as light and pleasant as if they were taking afternoon tea at a country manor, but there was something underneath that froze Turlough to the spot like a bath of ice water. His head snapped up as the colour drained out of his face.

"You knew," he said flatly. The Doctor nodded.

"I knew," he agreed. "The General commanding this crumbling ruin of a fortress is on the payroll, shall we say, of the Black Guardian. As are you. In fact, the only thing I don't know is what the Black Guardian promised you in exchange for killing me."

Turlough didn't bother to lie. "My safe return home to Trion."

"Yes, I imagine that would just about do it."

Turlough glared, flushing with anger. "Don't patronise me, Doctor!" he snarled. "I'm not one of your damn humans!"

"I wasn't patronising you, Turlough. I've been an exile myself, and I remember it quite well. But speaking of humans, in all that time at an English public school, you must have heard of Doctor Faust, yes?"

"I don't know." Turlough snorted in disbelief, but it seemed the Doctor was quite serious. "Maybe. So?"

"So, a deal with the Devil never ends well for the other fellow, even if he upholds his side of the bargain," the Doctor said calmly. "The Black Guardian was never going to take you back to Trion, whether you killed me or not. Why would he go to such trouble, when it was far simpler to kill you once he'd had the use out of you?"

Turlough had opened his mouth, meaning to sneer, but a chill went down his spine as his brain realised that the Doctor's argument was horribly accurate. He swallowed, feeling panic start to tighten around his chest. The Doctor said nothing, just watched him, face grave.

"That..." He tailed off: the worst curse he could think of wasn't enough. "I thought we had a deal."

"Not much of a deal, given that neither of you were intending to honour it," the Doctor observed.

Turlough glared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Only that your behaviour is hardly consistent with a would-be assassin," the Doctor said. "You've been on board the TARDIS for months. I don't have a bodyguard or anything approaching a personal security system, and we've ended up in any number of dangerous situations. You've had any number of opportunities to kill me, but you haven't tried once."

"Are you saying I'm a coward?" Turlough snapped, temper flaring

"I'm saying that you don't seem eager to follow through on your agreement," the Doctor said.

Infuriated, Turlough crossed the cell in three strides, one hand pulling out the gun tucked in the back of his waistband. The next second, his face was inches from the Doctor's and the gun barrel was pressed against the Doctor's jaw. "And what makes you so sure that's not why I'm here?" he hissed.

The Doctor didn't flinch. "No reason why it shouldn't be, I suppose," he replied evenly. "I'm unarmed, defenceless, completely at your mercy. You could do anything you wanted to me. So, if it's really what you want...."

Turlough grabbed a handful of jersey, the other hand tightening on the gun. "Shut up!"

The Doctor looked up, and his eyes locked with Turlough's. "Go on," he whispered. "Do it."

In a rush, Turlough ducked his head and kissed the Doctor full on the mouth. The gun slid from his grasp, clattering harmlessly into a corner: Turlough's hands cupped the Doctor's face and slid into his hair as he ravished his mouth, kiss after kiss after kiss until they were both breathless from it. When he was finally forced up for air, Turlough stayed close: heart pounding crazily, he pressed rough, eager kisses and little nips along the Doctor's neck, hand dropping to trace the V of skin exposed by the neckline of his sweater.

"So what do you call this, Turlough?" the Doctor taunted. "A condemned man's last f-"

Before he could finish, Turlough's hand gripped his jaw, and Turlough's mouth covered his in a brief, furious kiss. Turlough pulled away, flushed and panting.

"Shut it, you bastard," he spat. "You make me crazy, you know that?"

"Oh, I rather think I do..." the Doctor shot back, and when Turlough yanked him closer again his lips parted under Turlough's, sending a surge of lust through him. His hands skirted the Doctor's waist, sliding up his jersey and shirt until they were bunched high on the Doctor's chest and he was stroking a path down to the line of dark gold curls low on his belly. During all his time on the TARDIS, no matter how terrifying or weird or disturbing a situation they ended up in, the Doctor was always calm, detached, utterly unfazed, and it needled Turlough until he could hardly bear it, wanted to scream or break something or punch him, just to make the Doctor react. Now the heel of his hand was rubbing the Doctor's hardness through his fly, and the Doctor was biting his lip, a flush creeping into his cheeks. He was responding to Turlough now, he couldn't stop himself, and the thought was dizzying. Spurred on, Turlough set to stripping them both, cursing as his fingers fumbled with buttons and zips, enjoying the little shivers and twitches he set off in the other man. The Doctor was looking a little dazed by the time Turlough dropped his own shirt to one side and pulled the Doctor into a clinch, lips finding his, hands tracing the length of his spine. Hard cocks nudged and slid against each other as their bodies rocked together, and Turlough was tugging at the Doctor's hair, pushing and desperate, not sure himself what he was craving until a stray touch found the Doctor's arse. The Doctor sucked a breath in, eyelids fluttering, and in a split-second Turlough knew exactly what he wanted.

When his vision had cleared, he glanced down at the Doctor's cock pressing hard into his belly, painfully hard and shiny with pre-come, and smiled wolfishly. He shifted position, pulling away a little to free a hand. Reflexively the Doctor wrapped his legs tighter, holding him there.

"Oh no, no," he whispered fiercely, blue eyes burning with need, "don't stop, you bastard, do - oh..."

His protest dissolved into whimpers as Turlough curled his hand around the Doctor's cock and began to stroke, firm smooth strokes from base to tip, timing them perfectly to match his thrusts inside the Doctor. Inside three strokes the Doctor was crying out, his head falling back, body arching off the wall with shocking force: on the next stroke, Turlough muffled his shout of ecstasy in the Doctor's shoulder as his orgasm tore him apart.

As the pleasure ebbed away, Turlough's legs finally gave way under him, and they both sank to the floor, wordless and exhausted.

Turlough had no idea how long they sat there, propped against each other, without a sound bar their own breathing. The cold of the stone floor against his bare skin barely registered through the warm glow lingering inside him, and despite the odd twinges in his calves he felt - good. Spent, satisfied, and strangely peaceful.

He felt the Doctor shifting next to him, hunting through his trouser pockets and muttering under his breath. After a moment, there was a shrill humming, then a metallic click and rattle as the cuffs on the Doctor's wrists fell away.

"There! Much better!" Turlough looked around in surprise, and the Doctor held up a smaller version of his sonic screwdriver. " You should always carry a spare," he said, grinning and massaging the red cuff-marks on his wrists. Suddenly his gaze fell over Turlough's shoulder, and his expression became much more serious. Turlough followed his eyes. The gun was still there, lying in the corner where it had fallen. It wouldn't be hard to retrieve.

"You still could," the Doctor said quietly, behind him.

Turlough turned to face him. "I could. But I don't want to."

The Doctor smiled and laid a hand against one freckled cheek. "Nor do I," he said, before pulling Turlough into the sweetest, most tender kiss he'd had in years. When their lips finally parted, Turlough sighed, and laid his head on the Doctor's shoulder. His eyes closed in contentment, only to pop open a moment later when a thought occurred to him.

"Doctor?" He sat up. "You had that sonic in your trouser pocket all the time?

"Mm-hmm."

"But then... You could have undone those cuffs as soon as I unhooked them from the wall, so - "

The Doctor gave an elegant shrug. "I could," he admitted. "But then again," he continued, blue eyes sparkling wickedly, "you were enjoying them so much at the time, it just didn't seem cricket."

"Oh? So what, in your opinion, would be 'cricket' now?"

The wicked sparkle was back in the Doctor's eyes. "Well, there is a well-known saying, 'Turnabout is fair play...'"

Turlough gave in, and let the Doctor drag him to the floor.